


You Gave Me Somebody to Love

by gutsforgarters



Series: Doo Wah Diddy Diddy [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Crushes, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Pre-Relationship, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsforgarters/pseuds/gutsforgarters
Summary: This might be the first proper conversation Beth’s ever had with Daryl Dixon. Sure, she says hi to be polite whenever she sees him, but he usually just grunts and nods if he doesn’t ignore her outright. He actually scares her a little, and she tends to avoid him when he’s around.Maybe she doesn’t have anything to be afraid of, though, if he’s the kind of man who's patient enough to teach bow hunting to a kid.





	You Gave Me Somebody to Love

**Author's Note:**

> The prequel to the [prequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183911) to the [prequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18199220) to the [fic that will not end](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101309/chapters/42789647), because it's not like I have a million other things I should be working on right now. [drags hands down face]
> 
> Beth's about sixteen in this, but I'm not tagging for underage because nothing happens between her and Daryl. Just so you're aware.

Beth’s halfway through her sixth Pop Tart of the week when she realizes that she’s halfway through her sixth Pop Tart of the week.

It’s Saturday, and she’s had a Frosted Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop Tart for breakfast every day of the week so far. Right now, Maggie and their dad are eating bacon and eggs in their big sunny kitchen, and Beth’s eating a cold breakfast pastry in her bedroom with the curtains sealed shut.

Beth stares blankly at her half-eaten Pop Tart and her half-empty glass of whole milk and the crumbs on her bedspread and thinks: _What the hell am I_ doing.

It’s almost funny, that _this_ is what pierces the protective cloud of apathy she’s been carrying around with her like a shield, but it’s ten in the morning on a Saturday and she’s eating a cold Pop Tart in bed instead of the fluffy scrambled eggs that her dad makes so well, and she _genuinely_ can’t remember the last time she spoke to someone outside of her immediate family because she wanted to and not because she had to.

Again, she thinks: _What. The hell. Am I_ doing _._

Beth sets her plate and glass down on her bedside table and climbs out of bed, brushing crumbs off the comforter and into her cupped palm. She throws them out in the wastepaper basket by her desk, and then she goes to the window and yanks the curtains open.

Morning sunlight hits her like a slap to the face, and she flinches and screws her eyes shut like some cave-dwelling nocturnal thing. Once she gets over the shock, though, the warmth feels nice on her face. Gentle, like a comforting hand laid on top of her head. Beth tilts her face into that warmth and just stands there for a while, hands relaxing their death grip on the curtains, breath gone slow and steady.

She wants to go outside. Fresh air and sunlight are supposed to be good for people with depression, aren’t they?  

Depression.

It’s the first time she’s put a name to the ugly, hulking thing that’s taken up residence inside of her, although she’s heard Dad and Maggie talking about it in hushed undertones like they think she’s lost the ability to hear as well as function in polite society. She’s pretty sure that’s what she has, although part of her is doubtful. Part of her wonders if she’s imagining it, or—or faking it, somehow.

She can’t even trust herself to recognize what she’s feeling anymore.

Somebody knocks lightly on her doorframe, and Beth doesn’t respond at first. Just keeps on soaking up the sunlight like a solar panel that needs recharging.  

“Beth? What’re you up to over there?”

Beth opens her eyes, and the light doesn’t hurt this time. She lets go of the curtains and swivels to face Maggie, who’s hovering in her doorway.

Beth crosses her arms. She still hasn’t gotten dressed, is still wearing the t-shirt and shorts she went to bed in, and she’s abruptly aware of how _gross_ she feels, standing around like a slob in the clothes she slept in while Maggie’s already dressed for the day in her nice jeans and contoured makeup.  

Instead of answering Maggie’s question, Beth poses one of her own. “Hey. Have a good breakfast?”

Maggie’s forehead pinches, but she says, “Yeah, I guess so. Dad’s doin’ the dishes.”

Beth scratches at a phantom itch on her inner forearm. “He, uh. He need help?”

Maggie shakes her head, slowly. “Nah, he’s good.”

Their dad expects them to be productive members of their household, so Beth can guess why he didn’t ask Maggie to stay and help him dry the plates. “He send you up here?”

Maggie twitches guiltily. _Bingo_. “Not exactly.”

Beth sighs and unravels her arms. Plunks down in her spinny desk chair and swivels back and forth. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Maggie ventures farther into Beth’s room, hesitating at the nightstand to peer down at the half-eaten Pop Tart and glass of milk. “You want me to take that down for you?”

As if Beth didn’t already feel crappy enough, now she’s gotta feel guilty over Maggie offering to pick up after her like she’s some kinda kid. “No. Thanks. I’ll get it in a minute.”

Maggie nods distractedly as she circles the bed to plop down on the side closest to Beth. She absently knocks her bootheels together and chews on her lip, and Beth’s just about to ask her to speak up already when she finally says, “It’s a nice day out.”

So they’ve been reduced to talking about the weather. Great. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“Be a shame to spend it inside.”

Beth nods. “I was thinkin’ the same thing, too.”

Maggie looks at Beth like she just spoke Klingon. “You. Wait. What?”

Beth presses her bare feet flat to the floor as if to ground herself. “I said, I was thinkin’ about goin’ out.”

“Oh.” Maggie’s eyes light up with poorly restrained excitement, and Beth can tell it’s taking everything she’s got not to blurt out a list of suggestions for a Saturday out. “You got any plans? Y’wanna spend the day with me an’ Glenn, maybe?”

Third wheeling Glenn and Maggie’s date is _so_ not what Beth needs right now. “I was gonna ask Mr. and Mrs. Grimes if they needed somebody to sit for Carl.”

Maggie frowns. “You sure? Wouldn’t you rather hang out with your friends?”

“Carl _is_ my friend.”

“Carl’s a middle schooler.”

Yeah, but unlike Beth’s high school friends, Carl won’t tiptoe around her like she’s a suicidal bomb that’s about to go off. Kids don’t bullshit you, or treat you like spun glass. Beth likes that about them.

Instead of explaining that to Maggie, though, Beth just shrugs. Her fingers are twitching with the urge to trace the scar on her wrist. “Yeah, but it’s what I wanna do.”

Maggie must figure it’s best not to press Beth on this, because she concedes with a nod. “Alright. You need me to give you a ride?”

“If you don’t mind, yeah.”

Maggie nods again, but she doesn’t leave right away, which is good, because there’s something else Beth wants to say. Something that’s caught in her throat like a hunk of food, something that she’s got to get out before it can choke her.

“I was thinkin’ that I’d like to talk to somebody, too. Y’know, professionally.”  

Maggie’s face scrunches up like she’s about to cry, then smooths out into a smile. When she talks, her voice quavers a little.

“That sounds good, Bethy. That sounds real good.”

Beth nods, staring hard at her lap, at her intertwined fingers. Maggie kisses her on the crown of her head, then leaves her to get dressed.

Beth waits until she hears the creak of feet on the stairs before she gets up to grab her phone off her nightstand and dial Lori’s number. She scowls at the Pop Tart, then wanders over to her dresser to sort through the bracelets tangled up in the bottom of her varnished jewelry box while she waits for Lori to pick up.

“Hi, Mrs. Grimes. Yeah, it’s nice to hear from you, too. I was—I was wonderin’ if you needed somebody to come sit for Carl?”

 

* * *

 

Lori’s waiting in the doorway when Beth gets to the Grimeses’ house, arms opening wide before Beth’s even finished mounting the porch. Beth all but flings herself at Lori, cinching her arms around her waist and tucking her head beneath her chin.

“Hey, baby.” Lori wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders and gives her a hard squeeze. Her hair smells like citrusy shampoo, same as Beth remembers. “It’s real good to see you again.”

“You too, Mrs. Grimes,” Beth mumbles. She’s pretty much clinging to Lori at this point, but she’s not quite ready to let go, and that’s okay, because Lori doesn’t seem to be, either.

“Carl was thrilled when he heard you were coming over. He’s been wanting to see you.”

Guilt knifes through Beth, and it compels her to let go and take a step back. “Sorry. I just—I’m real sorry. About everythin’.”

“Hey, now.” Lori cups Beth’s cheeks and runs her thumbs along her cheekbones. “Don’t you apologize. Not for anything.”

Beth’s lower lip trembles. She sinks her teeth into it to hold it still.

Lori gives Beth’s face a gentle squeeze. “You hear me?”  

Beth musters up a wobbly smile, and Lori wraps an arm around her to lead her into the shady hallway. Somebody’s muttering in the kitchen, and Beth recognizes the voice even before she sees Rick rooting through a tacklebox with a frustrated scowl on his face.

Lori smiles wryly at Beth, then clears her throat.

Rick glances up, and his scowl melts away as soon as he sees Beth, leaving abject relief and longstanding affection in its place.  

God. She’s been worrying everyone half to death, hasn’t she?

“Hey, honey.” Rick comes around the kitchen island with his arms extended, and Beth folds herself into the hug. “It’s real nice to see you.”

At least they haven’t asked her how she’s been doing. That’s a small mercy, and probably a deliberate one.

“Hey, Mr. Grimes. It’s good to see you, too.” Beth draws back to give Rick a tentative smile, but winds up frowning instead. “Uh. Are you an’ Mrs. Grimes gonna go fishin’?” Because Lori can’t stand fish that are already dead, let alone the kind that are still flopping around.  

Lori scoffs, and Rick laughs. “Nah. Me an’ Daryl were gonna take Carl out with us, show him the ropes.”

Well, that explains the dusty Ford that was parked in the driveway, at least. “Then why’d you ask me over?”

“To keep me company,” says Lori, and Beth’s frown pinches tighter. “Thought we could make a girls’ day in of it—or a girls’ day out, if you want.”  

Beth’s heart gives an anxious squeeze. “I—you don’t gotta—”

But Lori’s not having it, because Rick isn’t the only Grimes with steel in his spine. “Hey, you’d be doing _me_ a favor. But you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I can drive you home if you want.”

Beth’s not sure what she wants, but she _is_ sure that she doesn’t want to spend the day cooped up in her room with a box of Pop Tarts. “I, uh.” She has to blink hard a couple of times before going on. “No, that sounds nice. I’d like that.”

Rick squeezes Beth’s shoulder. “You wanna go get Carl? He’s out back with Daryl.”

“Sure,” says Beth, and heads out of the kitchen and down the hallway. The backdoor’s been propped open to let in the warmth of the beautiful day, and Beth brushes her fingers idly across the jamb as she steps onto the deck.   

Carl’s standing with his back to the house, looking dwarfed by the beast of a crossbow he’s got in his arms. Daryl’s kneeling at his side, and as Beth watches, he points at a nearby tree.

Beth squints. Not at the _tree_ , exactly. At the squirrel that’s clinging to its trunk.

Carl fires a bolt, and the bow’s kickback is strong enough to send him stumbling. Beth tenses automatically, but Daryl’s already got a wide hand braced on Carl’s back, steadying him.

The bolt bounces off the tree and falls to the ground, and the startled squirrel races up the trunk and out of sight. Beth doesn’t have to see Carl’s face to know that he’s scowling up a storm.

She smiles a little and steps off the deck, grass that’s still damp with morning dew crunching wetly under her feet. Daryl must hear her coming, because he cranes a look at her over his shoulder. Carl follows his gaze, then practically throws the crossbow into Daryl’s lap as he comes running over.

“Beth!”

Carl slams into Beth, arms going around her waist, and she lets out a whuff of air before dropping to her knees to hug him back properly. Carl’s at that age where he’s starting to get stingier with hugs, so he must have missed her something awful, to be grabbing onto her like this right now.

She’s not gonna cry. She’s _not_. She’ll just upset Carl if she does.

“Hey.” Beth knocks her head gently against Carl’s. “I missed you.”

Carl burrows into her for a second. “Missed you too,” he mumbles before pulling away, blue eyes intent on her face, cheeks either flushed with excitement or the strain of lifting that crossbow. Then he drops his gaze and fidgets, and Beth pushes back to her feet.

Daryl’s been hanging back, pretending not to watch them, and Beth gives him an awkward smile that he doesn’t return before saying to Carl, “Mr. Dixon been teachin’ you how to bow hunt?”

Carl’s eyes light up, but he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Kind of, I guess. Cocking it’s real hard, though. But Daryl says it’s hard for most people at first,” he rushes to clarify, like he’s afraid Beth will think he’s a wimp or something.

Beth tries not to stare at Daryl’s arms as she says, “I’ll just bet it is.”

Carl doesn’t say anything to that, just looks up at Beth expectantly, and she remembers why she came out here in the first place. “Uh, your dad’s askin’ for you.”

Carl says, “Alright.” He hesitates, then gives Beth one more fleeting hug before scurrying inside.

Beth waits until Carl’s inside to turn to Daryl and say, “Y’all been out here murderin’ squirrels all mornin’?”  

Daryl looks startled that she’s talking to him, but he masks it quickly with a scowl. “What, you a vegetarian or somethin’?” He says ‘vegetarian’ like it’s a dirty word, and Beth feels like laughing.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like doing that, actually. Like, she _literally_ can’t.

“Uh, not exactly. I don’t eat a lotta meat, though.”

She thinks that this might be the first proper conversation she’s ever had with Daryl Dixon. Sure, she says hi to be polite whenever she sees him, but he usually just grunts and nods if he doesn’t ignore her outright. He actually kind of scares her a little, makes her stomach go all queasy, and she tends to avoid him when he’s around.

Maybe she doesn’t have anything to be afraid of, though, if he’s the kind of man who's patient enough to teach bow hunting to a young kid like Carl.

He doesn’t seem inclined to keep this conversation going, though, barely sparing Beth another glance as he stalks past her towards the house. Without thinking much of it, Beth stops him with a fleeting touch to his elbow, but he startles like she hit him, and she holds both hands up, apologetic.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Jeez, you’d think she’d grabbed him or something. “I just wanted to thank you.”

Daryl scuffs a toe through the grass. Is he—is he _fidgeting_? “What for?”

Beth fiddles with her backpack’s straps, not entirely able to look Daryl in the face as she says, “Y’know, for bein’ there for Carl. That used to be my job, but I haven’t. I haven’t been around much lately, so.”

Daryl looks distinctly uncomfortable, so it surprises Beth a little when he says, “Carl gets it. He ain’t mad at you or nothin’.”

Beth lets go of her backpack. Wraps her right hand around her left wrist and toys with her bracelets. She doesn’t have quite enough of them to completely cover her scar. She should buy some more.

“He ain’t?”

“Nah.”

Beth takes a breath that’s too loud, too unsteady. She looks at Daryl from under her lashes and says, quietly, “Thanks.”

Daryl shrugs stiffly. “Didn’t do nothin’.”

 _But you did_ , she doesn’t say. She just smiles at him, and he blinks rapidly like she shined a flashlight in his face.

“We should go in,” Beth says, deciding to spare him further forced conversation with some random teenager he doesn’t care about. He nods jerkily and follows her into the house, padding silently along like some big cat.

Lori and Beth wave goodbye to Carl and the men at the front door before heading into the living room. Lori gets there first, claiming a couch cushion and patting the one beside it. Beth sheds her backpack and sits, and Lori wraps a strong arm around her shoulders. She picks up the remote, but she doesn’t turn the TV on.

“So, what’s on the agenda? There a show you wanna marathon? Or would you rather go out for a walk? Maybe take a drive to the mall?”

Beth should answer her, but her eyes are fixed on the TV’s blank screen, and she can’t get her tongue to spit out the words she needs to say. Her cloud of apathy has been slowly dissipating all morning, but the thickest layer of it burned off when Daryl Dixon told her that Carl understands why she hasn’t been coming around, and now.

Now she’s gotta face what’s been lurking underneath of it.

“Beth? You okay, honey?”

No, is the thing. No, she’s not.

Her eyes film over, and she has to blink hard to clear them, and when she does, heat spills down her face. She takes a shuddering breath, and when she exhales, it sounds like a sob, grief hitting her like a punch to the stomach.

Lori wraps both arms around Beth, holding her close, and Beth curls up against her like a child seeking comfort from their momma, which is fitting, because Lori’s the closest thing Beth will ever have to a mom, now. Beth’s real mom is dead, and so is her brother. They’re just. Gone. Like they were never here to start with.

Part of Beth wishes that she’d clung harder to the apathy. Not feeling anything’s better than feeling too much, right?

No, she realizes. No, it isn’t.

Lori strokes her hair. Rubs her back. Doesn’t tell Beth that it’s okay, because she knows it isn’t.

What she does say is, “I’ve got you, honey. I got you, baby girl. I got you.”

It doesn’t really help, hearing that, but Beth thinks that it _might_ help. Eventually.

One day.

 

* * *

 

In the end, they decide to stay in and watch _Xena: Warrior Princess_ because Lori loves that show, and because Beth likes it too even though it’s kind of bonkers. They take breaks between episodes, though, so Beth can go out and get some air around the neighborhood, and when they get back from their latest walk, Daryl’s Ford is parked in the driveway.

Beth states the obvious. “Guess they’re back.”

The door’s unlocked, and Lori goes through first, only to wrinkle her nose at the overpowering smell of fish.

“Yeah,” says Lori. “Can’t say I’m excited about cooking that.” Beth laughs, and Rick must have heard their voices, because he pops out of the kitchen and comes over to hug Beth and kiss Lori, although Lori pretends to be grossed out.

“Ugh, don’t touch me until you’ve washed that stink off your hands.”

Rick sticks his hands in Lori’s face like a five-year-old, and she bats them away before heading into the kitchen to say hi to Carl and Daryl.  

“Hey,” Rick says to Beth. “You have fun today?”

The thing is, she did. “Yeah.”

“That’s good to hear,” Rick says absently, most of his attention focused on rooting through his pockets. After a couple seconds of digging, he unearths a thin fold of money, which he hands to Beth.

For a second, Beth stares at it, uncomprehending. Then she says, “Mr. Grimes, you can’t pay me for a job I didn’t do.”

“You kept Lori company for me while I was out.”

Beth shoves the wad of money at him. “I’m not gonna let you pay me for keepin’ a grown woman company.”

“Sure, you are. ’Cause if you don’t, I’ll just give the money to your daddy, and _he’ll_ deposit it in your savings account.”

Beth scowls and shoves the money into her pocket, handling it like it’s a cyanide tablet.

Rick’s not finished, though. This time, he passes her two small packages wrapped in tissue paper.  

Beth turns them over in her hands. “Thought y’all went fishin’.”

“We did. But there’s a lil’ giftshop on the way there, and we figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop and look.” Rick shoves his hands into his now presumably empty pockets. “G’on, open them.”

Beth pulls the crinkly yellow tissue paper off the first bundle, and Rick takes it from her as she brings the floral headband closer to her face. It’s the color of peach blossoms, and soft to the touch.

Blinking hard, Beth says, “Thanks, Mr. Grimes,” before setting about tearing the paper off the second package.

Her breath hitches in her lungs.

It’s a turquoise cuff bracelet, and it’s beautiful, but it’s also thick enough to completely cover the scar on her wrist if she pairs it with a couple other smaller bracelets.

“Um.” Beth swallows convulsively. “This is. This is too much.”

“Nah, it ain’t. The headband’s from me an’ Carl, but the bracelet’s from Daryl.”

Beth looks up so fast she just about gives herself whiplash. “What?”

Rick’s lips pull into a slow, secretive smile. “Daryl picked it out and bought it himself. He’s the one who wanted to stop at the giftshop, actually, but don’t tell him I told you that, alright? He’ll get embarrassed, and he’s a pain in the ass when he’s feelin’ bashful.” Rick snorts. “A bigger pain in the ass than he usually is, anyways.”

Beth doesn’t say anything. Just slides the bracelet onto her wrist. It’s cool on her skin, and smooth enough to not irritate her scar.

“You wanna come say goodbye to Carl?”

Beth nods and follows Rick to the kitchen. But she doesn’t go in right away.

Daryl’s standing by the kitchen island with his back to the doorway, gutting a fish while Lori and Carl make grossed-out faces and Rick laughs. Daryl’s talking—making fun of Lori and Carl, Beth thinks, but she can’t really process the words.

She runs her fingers over her new bracelet. Her heart stutters, once, like it’s asking a question.

She thinks she might know the answer.

There’s something stirring inside of her. Something like fresh green sprigs growing out of decay.

Something like sunlight burning through a heavy fog.  

**Author's Note:**

> _and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for._
> 
> -Richard Siken


End file.
